A Letter to Fred
by Ink Mage
Summary: George writes a letter to Fred on the anniversary of his death. One-shot. Bring tissues


_A.N. Hi, everyone. Answer me a quick question: why am I so depressing? The first story idea that I've had in months, and it's a tear-jerker. At least my sad stories are decent, right? So, as per usual, read and review. Love it, hate it, flame it, just give me feedback. _

_2__nd__ May, 1999_

Dear Fred,

You died a year ago today. So did a lot of people, but they hardly matter. How can they, when you were the other half of my soul?

I'm spending the day at Hogwarts. There's a big ceremony on the school grounds, where they built the memorial. Everyone who lost someone will be there. The Minister is announcing a national holiday, according to Perce. He's so much less of a git now. Harry's going to make a speech, which he's been practicing for months now. Hermione offered to write it for him, but he refused. He said it would be wrong, disrespectful somehow. I don't think she should have bothered to offer. Harry's always been good at writing speeches. Remember how he taught us Defence in our seventh year? He knew even then how to lead and inspire a crowd, and he's only gotten better. He's grown up a lot, our Harry has. We all have. Maybe too much, in my case.

It's hard to joke these days. I've reopened Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and we're earning plenty of money, but it's no fun without you. I've stopped inventing new pranks, now that I have no one to test them on. Every day seems to be the same—just waking up, going to work, coming home and going to bed. Some days I wish I wouldn't wake up, that I could join you again. The thought of what you'd do to me if I gave up like that keeps me going, though. I don't fancy being pranked for all eternity.

I've been coping as best I can. I try to smile, and laugh, and prank, and cause trouble. Sometimes I even fool other people that I'm doing okay. Mum is the easiest to fool, surprisingly. Why couldn't she be that easy when we were causing trouble? Dad's the hardest to fool. He just gets this sad look in his eyes when I try to prank like I used to. I can't look him in the eye, because I know I'll start crying and nobody will be fooled any more.

That's not actually true. Dad's not the hardest to fool; Angela is. She's a bit different though. She'll laugh and let me pretend to everyone that I'm okay, but she always finds me afterwards to hug me and let me cry. I think I love her for that, Fred. Maybe I'll marry her. If I do, we'll name our first son Fred. I know you'd like that.

There are days when I can't cope though. They're fewer now than they were a year ago, but they still happen. I have my ways of coping though. I like to stand in front of mirrors with one of your Christmas sweaters on, and an Extendable ear by my head. I can pretend that you're looking back at me. Or sometimes I take your broom and fly as high as I can. Because the higher I go, the closer I get to you.

I don't think I'll ever fully recover, though. I avoid mirrors unless I'm dressed as you, because I can't stand seeing the reflection out of the corner of my eye and thinking it's you. I stop in the middle of sentences, expecting you to take over. I look around when I find something funny (rare as it is), but you're never there to share the joke. My boggart has changed into a Dementor like Harry's. Not because I fear fear, or whatever the reason that Harry has that boggart. No, I'm terrified that I'll meet a Dementor one day. I can't produce a Patronus any more, since my best memories are the ones with you. I'm scared that a Dementor will kiss me, and I'll never see you again. After all, you need a soul to enter heaven.

Well, that's about it. I hope you're still playing pranks in heaven. I bet you've teamed up with Moony, Padfoot and Prongs (and wasn't it mean for Harry to keep who they really were a secret from us?) Maybe you'll find my ear up there.

As for me, I'm spending the anniversary of the battle in the corridor where you died. The rest of the family is going to the memorial, but I'm staying here. Peeves is staying with me, though. Today's the only day that he's promised to be serious. He gave me a present earlier. He managed to transfer a memory into a photograph. It's that moment in sixth year, when we tried to put our names in the Goblet of Fire. We look so happy, even though we were wrestling and fighting.

I just wish it wasn't the only time that we'd be old together.

I love you.

Your brother,

George.

P.S. I guess we're both holy now. And now I can't stop crying

P.P.S. I hope I die laughing, just like you did

P.P.P.S. Mischief Managed.


End file.
